


i will not ask you where you came from (i will not ask and neither should you)

by serenitysea



Series: i didn't know that we could break a silver lining [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Memory Loss, heartbreak probably, these feels are nothing we were ever trained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka; the one where skye doesn’t know who she is and ward does everything he can to protect her. spoiler alert: it ends badly.</p><p>or; skyeward does anastasia. …sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i will not ask you where you came from (i will not ask and neither should you)

**Author's Note:**

> OH GOD I WISH I WAS SORRY BUT
> 
> THIS IS INTENSE

_honey just put_  
_your sweet lips on my lips_  
_we should just kiss_  
_like real people do_

* * *

 

She wakes up and everything is fuzzy around the edges.

She wakes up and the man with the dark hair and sharp jaw is staring at her in a peculiar way. Like she holds the secrets to the universe.

"What —" She struggles to form words around the lump in her throat.

"How do you feel?" He acts like he knows her. Like he’s _always_ known her.

"Like I got run over by a truck." The response comes easily and the sarcasm feels familiar in a way that nothing else currently does. She doesn’t know why.

"Well," He looks like he’s trying to fight back a smile. It softens the harshness etched into his features. "You’re not wrong."

There is a knock on the door and another man with limbs that seem poised to spring is watching them both carefully. “Have you —” he checks the excitement in his voice and swallows back the near manic tone. “At least told her what her name is?”

She looks expectantly at the man by her side. She frowns, because he hadn’t. And she doesn’t remember what it is.

( _something is not right._ )

He summons a weak smile. “It’s Daisy.”

The words and twist of his lips do not match the darkness in his eyes. He’s _lying_.

She keeps watching him, waiting for whatever else he might reveal.

The man in the doorway all but bounces on his toes with excitement. “Daisy. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll have to go on a tour. The whole world awaits you.”

"Thanks," She offers by way of reply, carefully not looking at the man by her side and the tension that radiates from him like a shockwave. ( _How can she be the only one who notices this?_ ) “I’d like that.”

"Of course you would, Daisy. You’re my daughter and you’ve always loved exploring the unknown."

*

The explosion is big and loud and _white_.

She doesn’t black out.

She _lives_ through it.

( _…doesn’t she?_ )

*

When she is getting ready to sleep that night, the man from before comes back. His eyes scan over her with a familiarity and a swiftness that are not entirely uncomfortable. Like she shouldn’t be surprised that he’s doing this. ( _She isn’t._ )

"You should try to sleep. You’ll need your strength tomorrow."

"For what?" She wants to know why he can come into her room and why he doesn’t even try to take more from her than thorough glances that leave her aching all over.

"I’ll see you in the morning," He answers by not answering at all.

Her hands ball into fists and something rumbles in the distance. He turns halfway, lifting an eyebrow. As if he is amused. As if she’s done this before.

( _How is it he has all the answers and she doesn’t even know his name?_ )

"It’s Grant," he says, and she realizes her internal monologue wasn’t that internal after all.

"Well, Grant," She tests the weight of his name on her tongue. ( _It doesn’t feel right._ ) “I guess I’ll see you then.”

When Grant smiles, it looks more like a grimace. Like he’s out of practice.

( _Or he doesn’t mean it_.)

He shuts the lights off on his way out and leaves her in the darkness.

She pulls her knees to her chest and wonders why she doesn’t feel like _Daisy_.

*

There are strong arms under her back and legs.

The kind of strong that _burns_.

The kind of strong that reaches into your heart and _seizes hold_.

The kind of strong that —

*

The next morning proves to be quiet, almost eerily so. Like there’s no one else around. ( _Something tells her that’s not quite true._ )

There is a plated meal on the table in her room and a small vase with a yellow daisy inside.

She picks up the flower and twirls it between her fingers. The stem roughly prickles at her fingers and she stares out the window, watching as the tree branches move slightly in the wind. Something _pulls_ at her, like she wants nothing more to be out there and feeling _alive_.

Someone clears their throat.

Grant stands in the doorway watching with those whiskey eyes that don’t miss anything. He sees the flower in her hands and the expression on his face seems to twist until it blanks into nothingness.

"How do you do that?" She asks, getting up and walking over to him. She lifts a hand and touches the faint outline of a scar on his right cheek.

If he’s alarmed by her hand on his face, he doesn’t show it. He stands absolutely still. “Do _what_?”

"Make it disappear. Whatever it is you’re thinking or feeling, and you just —"

This time he grabs her wrist before she can touch him further, eliciting a gasp. He gentles his hold and slowly brings her hand down to her side.

Finally — when the silence has stretched out uncomfortably and she’s all but certain that he isn’t going to answer her — he looks away and inhales sharply, as if drawing strength. “Training.”

He stares at her with dark, probing eyes — the kind that make her wonder what else he knows and refuses to tell her. Like he’s _compelling_ the words from her when she finally says:

"Can you train me?"

Despite the fact that he keeps his features expressionless, she can tell that he is pleased by her request. That she’s somehow asked for the right thing. Like he’s a proud teacher and she just passed her first test. ( _What the hell?_ )

"Yes." He says, and it feels like something just slid into place in the barren wilderness that is her mind. " _Yes_.”

*

There is frantic rage and panic and _anger_ —

The kind of anger that threatens to obliterate everything in its path.

The kind of anger that she is intimately acquainted with.

The kind of anger that stares back at her when she looks in the mirror —

*

Before Grant takes her to where he deems fit to begin her training they make a stop.

The man who called her his daughter sits at a desk. He’s wearing glasses and peering over reports.

"We’re going to take a walk," Grant announces suddenly, almost like he’s asking permission. ( _But that can’t be right._ )

"Yes, that’s fine," her father waves absently at them, not bothering to look up from his work. "Make sure you’re back in time for lunch."

It’s almost startling the strength with which Grant laces their fingers together and tugs her out the door. It feels like he wants to _run_. Like he’s trying so badly to keep from running when he literally can think of nothing else but —

He pushes the doors open wide and she nearly gasps from the staggering relief of fresh air and a breeze tickling her face.

He tugs her down the steps and they’re almost jogging away from the house until it can barely be seen in the distance.

The grass beneath their feet is lush and she falls to her knees in delight. She knows he’s still watching her when she tips her head up into the sunlight and closes her eyes against the steady warmth beating down on her skin. “This feels amazing.”

"Sky." Grant says quietly.

He is referring to what is above them. Of course he is.

( _…then why does it feel like she just surfaced from a horrible nightmare?_ )

” _What_?” Every cell in her body stands at full alert. She can feel small tremors moving through her system, wanting nothing more than to be unleashed — and she doesn’t know why.

He’s watching her again. This time it’s like he’s _willing_ her to remember something and she doesn’t know _what_.

"It’s the sky. You needed to see it."

"That’s not it," she slowly answers, refusing to back down when he continues to stare at her with that almost otherworldly intensity.

She sits up so fast it makes her head spin and she doesn’t shake off the hand he places on her shoulder — it grounds her in the moment. Keeps her steady. Quiets the tremors that whisper in her blood.

Like she’s capable of great destruction if only she could _remember_ why.

It doesn’t matter that the sun is shining brightly and the temperature is warm enough to go without a jacket. She feels cold. The sky seems to be mocking her somehow.

"I want to go back." She curls her arms around her knees and makes herself as small as she can. Like she can stop this moment from happening if she just _hangs on_ tightly enough.

Grant waits patiently until she puts her hand in his and they walk back to the house in silence.

*

_you have no right to do this to her_

and —

_she is my daughter - i have EVERY right_

and —

_she wouldn’t want this and you know it_

and —

_stand DOWN or you’ll never see her again_

and —

_…i’ll do whatever you want_

and —

*

She wakes up gasping for air.

It’s like someone has their hands wrapped around her throat and she can’t, _she can’t, she can’t_ —

The door to her bedroom crashes open and Grant is kneeling at her feet with wild eyes. “What’s wrong? Talk to me —”

She chokes and its like she can’t get her lungs to cooperate and it doesn’t even matter that her father is standing in the doorway watching it happen ( _why isn’t he helping her? why is he just standing there?_ ) because black dots are swimming in her eyes and —

Grant slips a hand into hers and grabs hold and it’s like being outside again. He takes his other hand and slides it behind her neck, forcing her to lock eyes with him. _Grounding_ her.

Like he’s _daring_ her to remember. To _know_ those eyes.

( _and she **does** but she still isn’t sure **why**._ )

"Is everything all right, Daisy?" Her father asks like he’s inquiring about something inconsequential, like he doesn’t think it’s terribly awful that she can’t _breathe_.

Something about his question makes her skin crawl and a sarcastic response is on her tongue and about to come out when Grant squeezes her neck imperceptibly. She can barely make out what he’s trying to say beneath the darkness in the room but for whatever reason, he doesn’t want her to fight.

"I’m fine." When it appears that her father remains unconvinced, Grant runs his thumb soothingly at the nape of her neck and she draws strength from the gesture to add, "Honest, Dad. Just a bad dream."

The moniker seems to have assuaged whatever wildness lay coiled beneath his limbs and he lifts a hand to bids them goodnight.

When the door has closed behind him, Grant relaxes slowly by degrees until his forehead is resting on the mattress next to her leg. She can feel his hair tickling her thigh if she breathes a certain way.

This seems wildly familiar and strangely out of character for him ( _she’s not sure why she thinks that_ ) and somehow she can’t seem to figure it out. It’s like she’s stuck in quicksand and she can’t fight her way clear.

But his eyes.

They’re wounded and dark and they _want_.

( _She wants too._ )

It is almost like someone else’s hand cups his cheek and tips his face up to meet her. Someone else tugs him close and pulls him into her body. Someone else leans forward until there is no mistaking her intent.

He remains absolutely motionless until her lips touch his and then —

— he _moves_.

 _God_ , does he _ever_.

*

_you never should have done this you were supposed to stay out of it_

_like i would have let you ruin things on your own_

_dammit sk—_

*

Grant has —

Eyes that know her sins and don’t condemn her for what she’s done.

Grant has —

Hands rough from years of hard work and sacrifice that skim across her body and lay open her secrets like they’re his to choose from and discard into ash.

Grant has —

Lips that whisper someone else’s name.

Grant has —

 _Skye_.

*

The last thing she sees are his eyes and she knows that everything has gone horribly wrong.

His eyes have never been able to lie to her.

*

When she wakes up the next morning it isn’t because there are fingers trailing down her spine and counting off the vertebrae lovingly.

It’s because there of the creepy sensation of _eyes_ on her that don’t feel like _home_ — eyes that _burn_ and the danger that comes singing into her veins has her surging into awareness until she opens her eyes to see Cal standing at the foot of the bed with a gun in his hand.

Despite his absentminded nature and the loose way he holds the weapon she knows that he is absolutely capable of firing it. And that there is no chance of him missing while he is this close.

Memories crash down upon her head like a tidal wave and batter her consciousness into a fight she doesn’t know if she can win. There are so many things hitting her at once and there is a terrible humming under her skin that threatens to be unleashed and she can feel so many things waiting to _break_ at her command and she tunes back into awareness to hear —  

"I did what you _wanted_ ,” Grant — no, _Ward_ — hisses to Cal. “Everything you said to keep her safe.”

The barely restrained rage on Cal’s face is a fearsome thing. “I don’t recall _sleeping with her_ being part of the arrangement.”

Ward flexes his jaw tightly and exhales in a controlled pattern. She’s seen that particular brand of danger written on his face before and knows that he has a plan. And though he won’t look at her ( _she gets it now, oh god, does she understand_ ) she knows what has to be done.

“ _I_ wanted him,” Skye says, breaking the vicious stalemate and drawing her father’s gaze. She sits up and draws the sheet to her chest, providing cover for Ward as he reaches for the gun stashed under her pillow.

"He’s done horrible things, Daisy. Lied to you. Threatened your family. Betrayed you."

She can feel Ward tense up (it’s amazing how _skin on skin_ acts like nature’s most infallible polygraph) and stubbornly ignores the insistent morse code he’s tapping against her bare leg. She raises her eyes to snarl at the man half responsible for giving her life.

"Like _you_?”

Cal roars with fury and pulls the trigger —

— _just_ as she twists her body into the path of the bullet.  

It pierces through her and finds purchase in her heart stealing the breath from her lungs and stopping it somewhere in the in between.

Ward jerks her behind him half a second too late and fires and a red spray outlines the wall where Cal once stood.

"Maybe we aren’t all that different," Skye peers at his fallen body and grins with a savage delight.

Already it feels like there are hands around her neck again only this time they’re sending waves of ice down her body. She’s losing feeling and it doesn’t even matter that she just remembered who she was and how much _everything_ hurts. Nothing compares to the agony in this moment as she literally bleeds out from the emotional destruction of it all.

"Skye." Ward’s face swims in and out of focus. "Look at me."

She falls limply against his shoulder and struggles to remain conscious. ( _It’s so cold._ )

"Make it _disappear_ ,” Ward demands harshly, gripping at her with hands too tight from panic and fear.  

She doesn’t have the strength left to make sure this is what he really wants and rolls her neck until she can see the blue sky gleaming brightly out the window.

He kisses her fiercely and answers every question she’s never asked.

With her dying breath she lets go of the ironclad control on her abilities until the world _rips apart_ and falls down around them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com)  
> \+ title and opening lyrics are from hozier’s _like real people do_
> 
> \+ i was afraid i was losing my touch, tbh.


End file.
